


Exclusive

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:45:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Could you write a Root and Shaw fic about Shaw agreeing to actually enter into an exclusive relationship with Root. I would love to read a convo between the two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exclusive

Over the rush of wind and the pounding of adrenaline in her ears, she hears John Reese’s words from the driver’s seat. “You ready, Shaw?” He asks, his words being sucked from the car and out the passenger side window. Sameen, already half out of the window, one hand on the roof and the other on a large weapon, gives a self-indulgent smile.

"Born ready," she responds, and John gives a small smile.

"Be careful," Root’s voice comes through on Shaw’s earpiece, and she rolls her eyes.

"Is everyone in position?" Harold asks, the sound of a tapping keyboard masking his words. He watches his computer screen, waiting for the confirmation of his friends on the street.

Root flashes her high beams, signaling to John from behind that everything is set. “Yeah, Harold.”

At the words, Shaw feels an exhilarated smile sneak onto her face. Taking the large rifle, she looks into the scope, aiming. The cross hairs slide past passengers’ heads, tail lights, a tire, and then align on her mark. “Here’s the boom. In three, two…” She fires a single bullet, and within a second, the large Samaritan cargo truck erupts in a ball of flame. John steers out of the way of the explosion as Shaw unleashes a wicked smile. “One.”

* * *

 

"John. Car at twelve o’clock." Root says, and Reese brings his eyes straight forward to see a Jeep driving down the opposite side of the empty highway.

"What is it?" Harold asks, unable to see the scene unfolding.

"Shaw, get back in the car." John’s voice is low; lost in the wind.

"What?!" Shaw shouts back, seeing the black Jeep coming closer. She squints, and sees the outline of something metallic- smooth and sleek- almost like a…

” _Shaw!_ " John screams, "Get in the-"

The dark of night is split open with a brightness of fiery light and the sounds of firecrackers on steroids. Two bullets whiz past Shaw’s head, and she drops her weapon as the shots leave an unearthly ringing in her ear. In her disoriented daze, more bullets are spewed into the night, John being unable to swerve out of their way without endangering Shaw.

In an instant, something takes her shoulder by storm; like a baseball thrown at ninety-seven miles per hour. She’s thrown back, and another baseball-like impact hits her abdomen.

"What is going on?!" Harold insists, standing from his desk, looking around. As if, if he tries hard enough, the walls would dissolve to show the mayhem.

A bullet to the chest. The entire scene seems to inch to a crawl; the high speed siege being dissected frame for frame. Shaw falls back, the force of three sharp shot bullets pulling her limp form from the window. John’s foot slams to the breaks, car swerving as he reaches in slow motion to grab her. However, even with all the time in the world, he is a second shy. As his mouth soundlessly forms the word ‘Shaw,’ her pant leg slips through his fingertips- gone. The window where Shaw once leaned from shows nothing but trees and a clear night sky. Root slams on the breaks, eyes widening with dilated pupils as Shaw’s form slowly slips from the car in front of her. Root’s mouth opens into an ‘O’ as a silent scream escapes her lips. She watches, helpless, as Shaw’s body hits the ground and rolls. And, in the blink of an eye, everything resumes.

Root’s car halts, screeching to a stop as her back tires swing out to the side, and she rips open the door. Her throat feels like it’s bleeding- raw- and she realizes she had been screaming after all. She runs around the front of the car, and sees Shaw’s form stop its roll a few feet away. Frantic now, she comes to her side, hands ripping on the hard surface of the road as she drops to the ground. Root hears John’s car door open, and then the firing of bullets from his gun. Yet, all of that is a universe away as she rolls Sameen onto her back. Root’s heart shatters.

Her face is scraped, small cuts bleeding and gravel-powder dusting and smudging her features. Her face is a sickly white, the usual color of her skin lost entirely. Her jacket is shredded, and her left arm is stuck at an unnatural angle. Her black clothes are a deeper color now, the darkness of blood shimmering tragically in the moon’s quaint light, and the stickiness of it mats Shaw’s shirt against her body. Fingertips raw, and hands caked in blood and pebbles. Her pants are torn at the knees and shins; she’s missing a shoe.

Root’s mouth opens and closes, yet no sound escapes her distraught lips. Her chest is tight, she can’t even breathe, as the heat of tears wells in her eyes. She tries to say her name, say anything- not even a squeak. Swallowing hard, her breath comes in with a heaving shutter as she leans over Shaw’s motionless body. Somehow, she finally finds her voice.

"Oh my God-  _Shaw_ ,” her voice is hushed and trembling as she puts her hands on either side of Shaw’s face. She shakes her slightly- no response. “Sameen,  _please_ ,” Root begs, pushing Shaw’s face left to right, slapping it lightly. She rubs her thumbs across Shaw’s cheekbones, the dirt on her face smearing around on icy skin. The tears fall over.

"Harold, we need a hospital." Root tells him, voice choked and surprisingly loud in her own ears.

"Miss. Groves, you know we cannot-"

"She  _needs_  help!” Root screams, voice raising an octave. Sirens wail in the distance and quickly approach.

"As much as I want to get her there, there is  _no_  way to ensure any of our safety in such a public facili-“

"Well, figure something _out_ , Harold!” Her voice cracks as she looks at Shaw, biting her lip. She wants her to sit up, open her eyes- breathe.

_Breathe._

Eyes widening, Root lifts Shaw up to a partial sitting position, leaning Shaw against her front. Bending her head over, she puts her ear next to Shaw’s mouth. Listens. Nothing.

 _Nothing_. Her heart sinks to her stomach, and she clutches Shaw tightly around the waist, burying her face in the side of Shaw’s neck; a hiccup of grief muffled in Shaw’s hair.

"Shiznnbthnhrld," Root groans with a grief-stricken shutter. The sirens are earsplitting now, their lights dancing over them.

"What?" Harold asks, confusion lacing his voice. "I- I don’t understand.

Root musters her remaining strength to lift her heavy head less than an inch away. “She’s not  _breathing_ , Harold.” She repeats. Her head drops back down.

John rushes over to Root’s side, kneeling. His eyes draw wide in shock. “How is she doing?” Root gives no response. “ _How is she?!_ " He demands, louder now. He shields his eyes as a light flashes on them. Two men in fire suits run towards the flaming car with flashlights.

"She’s not breathing," Harold answers John, who lets out a heart wrenching sigh.

"Is everyone alright?" One of the firemen yells, just noticing the small bunch.

” _Harold_.” Root says, voice pleading.

"It’s not s-"

"I don’t  _care!_ " She screams.

"I want to help her. I do. But I do not want to endanger your life and John’s life w-"

"I think we’re both willing to risk that, Finch," John replies hostilely, then stands, holding up his badge.

"Detective John Riley. NYPD. We need an ambulance here,  _now_. And CPR.” He adds with stern authority, looking down at Root. She looks up at him, eyes red. She tries to give him a smile, but it is nothing more than a grimace.

The fireman calls out behind him, and three EMTs in blue scrubs rush to Shaw. They have to pry her from Root’s grasp, and immediately put a bag valve mask over her face. Another medic checks her pulse.

"We need the ambulance over here!" He screams out, and one of the three’s engine revs. Root sits, saucers for eyes, as she watches them try to resuscitate Shaw. Her hands fall to her lap, fight gone.

John, seeing the ambulance pulling forward, bends down and grabs Root around the waist, keeping her out of the way. He pulls her up like dead weight, and draws her into a tight hug. She brings her hands around his neck, face pressed against his shoulder. He holds her close, trying to fight the pained twitch of his lip- trying to act like a first responder, yet the friend in him is too overwhelming. He watches as they lift Shaw onto a gurney, then shut the ambulance doors, whisking her out of sight.

He feels the trembling of Root’s body and the wetness of tears soaking through his jacket. He closes his eyes, resting his chin on the top of Root’s shoulder.

"She- she’s gonna be okay." Reese says, voice rough. "I know she’ll be okay."

_______\ If Your Number’s Up /_______

Root sits. Sits in the passenger seat of John’s car numbly.  _Numb_. She can’t connect her thoughts, and her eyes look blankly out the side window. All cried out now, she sits with itchy eyes and a shattered heart. Thinking of the last look she had of Shaw- the last moment. Vividly, like reliving a nightmare, she sees flashes of Shaw being shot, falling, rolling-  _dying_. She winces at the word, not wanting to think of it. Not wanting to think of how lifeless she looked, and how much colder she became in the short minute it took for the ambulance to take her away. She shakes her head free of the thought, running a hand through her messy hair. She feels…  _sticky_.

Taking her hand from her head, she looks down in the small amount of light. She rotates them around, lips pressed together tight, a lump forming in her throat.  _Blood_. Sameen’s  _blood_. The thought hits her with great gravity, and she blinks a few times.  _Numb. So numb_. Bringing one hand to her shirt, she pulls it, and it peels from her torso. More blood. Suddenly, the metallic smell of blood is overwhelming. She feels nauseous, her head swimming. Looking over to John, his face is caught in a kaleidoscope.

There is a noise in her ear. It’s a spasmodic ringing, she thinks at first, from the awful buzz in my head. Then, she hears it with more clarity. Morose code. Sitting up, she listens closer, nodding as she takes in orders. Just as sudden as it came, the beeping vanishes.

"Harold," she says, the second she’s sure it’s over.

"Miss. Groves. So glad to hear you’re talking again."

"She needs you tap into the Mount Sanai Hospital’s video feed." Instantly, she hears the tapping of a keyboard.

"Alright. I’m in."

"Sierra Tango Foxtrot 1 2 1 2 Whiskey Delta 3."

More typing. “Okay.”

"She says you can figure it out from there."

"Figure what out, exactly?"

"How to cut Samaritan out of the loop." With that, she takes the earwig out of her ear. She toys with it, rolling it around in her fingers until it is coated in a thin film of red. Sighing, she clenches it in her fist.

"What’s the plan?" John asks, taking a quick glance her way.

"The plan is you need to sneak me into the hospital."

"Why?"

"There’s a lab coat and a PhD with my name on it." she replies, but the usual fire behind her words is missing. John raises his eyebrows.

"A  _doctor?_ ”

"It’s what the Machine said." She replies, eyes drifting back to the window. Root devoured the information, but it means nothing to her now. Not able to care less about any identity or pass-by code, Root thinks to the one thing she wishes the Machine had told her about:  _Sameen_.

_______________\ We’ll Find You /______________

After Root finishes washing the blood from herself in the Hospital’s Emergency Shower, she steps to the side, slipping on nurse scrubs and a Doctor’s jacket. She wraps a stethoscope around the back of her neck, and pulls her wet hair into a slick ponytail. Lastly, she throws her clothes into the nearest ‘Hazardous Waste’ bin, and walks from the room as three security guards run to the scene. She slips by them easily, then checks the patient sheet behind the ER’s desk. Her finger trails lightly down the line, and lands on a Jane Doe in room 346. Trying to look like she’s not in a hurry, Root casually walks down the corridor, heart hammering in her chest.

She stops, seeing the number on the door. All of her is on high alert, and- holding her breath- she turns the corner to peer in the window. Her heart melts as she sees Sameen laying on the hospital cot, wires and IV’s strung to her like Christmas lights. Taking a deep breath, Root slips in, then closes the thick, wooden door behind her. Pulling over a spare chair, she sits- shedding her jacket- and waits.

Root hovers; watching the vital signs, looking at bandages, and running her fingers lightly across Shaw’s arm splint. Twenty minutes pass of Root watching Shaw sleep, when finally, there’s movement. At first, Root can’t believe her eyes; she blinks a few times. Again, Shaw moves, a slight shift in her hand. Her head rolls over towards Root; her eyes slowly flicker open. For a moment her eyes slip out of focus, then come to. Her eyes look around, then stop on Root. A small, slightly pained smile crosses her face.

"Aren’t  _you_  a sight for sore eyes,” Shaw says, voice scratchy. Root immediately smiles, her eyes welling. She swallows and looks down at her hands.

"How are you feeling?" She asks, eyes coming back up to meet Shaw’s.

"Never better," she replies with a quiet laugh, but stops when a pain stabs her chest. "Didn’t know they allowed visitors." Shaw says, causing Root to smirk.

"They don’t," she responds coyly, slipping her lab coat on once again. " _I_  am your doctor.” Shaw gives Root a cross look.

"Do you  _want_ me to die?” She asks rhetorically, causing Root to become serious.

"No, which is why I’m here. I wanted to check on you." She stands, putting the ear plugs of the stethoscope on. With a quick smile, she comes close to Shaw, listening to her heart. Her own jumps to hear Sameen’s- hear it beating-  _alive_. She stays silent, listening to Shaw’s breathing; not realizing how much she needed to hear it until she thought she might never again.

Looking up, Root’s face is less than an inch from Shaw’s; the two look at each other for a long minute. Shaw’s eyes scan Root’s, trying to read them. Root comes even closer, eyes slightly closed- waits. Shaw doesn’t move, just lays there, watching every change in Root’s eyes. Root debates closing the space, noses already brushing, but pulls back at the last second. She sits, pulling the stethoscope from her ears, nerves igniting.

"Well  _that_  was disappointing,” Shaw says, and the two share a shocked look. “Sorry,” she adds, “I don’t think I have total control over my mouth.” Root shakes her head with a smile.

"Can I talk to you about something?" Root asks. After a moment, Shaw replies,

"Shoot."

"What would you say to… being together?"

Shaw is silent for a moment. “I don’t see why I  _would_  say anything to that.” She responds cautiously.

"Well, why not?"

"I just don’t think there’s anything to be said."

"Oh  _please_ ,” Root counters with exasperation. “Do I have to be the one to say it?”

” _Say. What_.” Shaw’s voice is defensive.

"I like you. A lot. Okay? And maybe four hours ago I could’ve kept that to myself. But after what happened out there? That changed things."

"Things like what?" Shaw retorts, her voice is raising. The heart monitor quickens.

"It put things into perspective for me. That I might not be able to see your  _smile_  again? Listen to the way you can make yourself sound like smartest person in the room without trying? How about just  _not_  being able to see  _you_ everyday?” Root stops a second, hearing Shaw’s heart monitor beeping wildly, giving her true emotions away. She continues. “Hearing you breathe didn’t seem like anything out of the ordinary four hours ago, but after _that?_  It feels like a  _luxury_. So excuse me, but it’s not easy to hide how you feel about someone you love once the possibility they won’t hear it arises.” Shaw looks at her, her distraught countenance and tense muscles. Sameen’s cheeks reveal a light blush, and her heart monitor puts everything she contains out there. Angrily, she slams it off.

” _Love?_ " Shaw asks. "That’s what you’re calling this?"

"I’m tired of pretending there is nothing going on between us."

” _Really?_  Because I’m not.”

"So you admit it," Root says victoriously. "There _is_  something going on.”

Silence.

"I’m not saying there _isn’t,_ " Shaw replies, swallowing the lump in her throat. "But I don’t think we need to talk about it now."

"Not talk- when  _do_  you?!”

"Oh,  _hmmm_ ,” Shaw retorts harshly, “how about when I’m  _dead_?”

"You almost  _died_  last night!” Root screams, standing.

"Yeah? Well, I  _didn’t!_ ”

"They didn’t  _tell_  you?” Root sneers, a bitter tone in her voice. “ _No_. Why  _would_  they? They don’t know who I am, so why would they tell  _you?_ ”

"Tell me  _what_.”

"Tell you I was  _crying_  for you. You weren’t _breathing_ , there was blood  _everywhere_ , I thought you were- were…” She stops, looking away. She sits back down in her chair.

"Dead," Shaw finishes, voice hushed. Root slowly nods her head.

"Tell me something," Root says, looking back to Shaw with stern eyes. "If that were me, would you  _not_  want to say anything? Would you come here content with saying nothing but, ‘Hope you get better, _pal_ ’?”

Shaw’s fight relinquishes, and she sighs. “No.”

"What would you say?"

Shaw stops a moment to ponder. “Everything.. everything that you said. Smiles and all. And maybe some other things.” Root is quiet, waiting for Shaw to continue. Feeling the painful weight of guilt from yelling at Root, she does. “I’d say… not being able to, to listen to you talk, or the names you give me. As annoying as they are, I- I’d miss them. I’d miss the way you are with guns, and- I’d miss  _you_  in general, Root.” Root’s smile is wide and her eyes glimmer.

"You mean that?" She asks silently. Shaw nods, looking straight up at the ceiling. They sit there, a small silence overcoming them for a while.

"What do you suggest we do?" Shaw asks.

"Hm?"

"Does a relationship entitle holding hands, or do I kiss you, or-"

"Wait, _wait_. You’re  _okay_  with this?” Root’s voice drips with disbelief, and her eyes expand.

"I’ll give it a try," Shaw responds, turning her face back to Root. She gives a smirk, then adds, "But only because I can’t  _take_  it to see you so  _sad_.” Root’s toothy grin spreads across her face. Shaw groans, holding her side in pain. “Come here,” she commands, tearing a hole in the side of her paper dress. Root stands and comes closer, bending to look at the bandage. A small drip of red peaks through the white gauze.

"Hold on," Root says, still analyzing the bandaging. "I’ll grab a nurse for you and-"

"I thought  _you_  were my doctor?” Shaw says with a smirk, and Root gives her sly eyes.

"Very funny, Sam." Root stands to leave, but Shaw grabs her arm, pulling her back. She over shoots, and Root stumbles, landing on Shaw. Her forehead collides with Shaw’s and they both stifle slightly pained laughter. Their giggling turns to silent smiles, and Root is too entranced to move.

"I’d say this pain medication does wonders," Shaw says with a low voice, "but that would be a lie. This hurts." Root realizes she is gripping Shaw’s injured side, and lets go quickly. She tries to stand, but a hand is encasing her waist. Root drops her head, not meeting Shaw’s eye as she smiles.

” _Sweetie.._.”

"Yes?"

"You can let go  _now_.” Shaw smirks at the words, and shrugs.

"Maybe later." Root leans closer, placing her hands on the sides of the bed. Their foreheads touch, then noses, then…

"No fraternizing with your patients," the voice of John Reese teases as he strolls into the room. Root turns her face to look at him, a small smirk playing on her face, and Shaw loosens her grip- slightly.

"What is  _this_? You both smelling the happy gas, or somethin’?” Fusco says, following up the rear.

"Harold’s still monitoring the video feeds," John tells them, "he says hello." Shaw gives him a small smile.

"So uh," Fusco says, clearing his throat. "We interrupting?"

Root starts to reply, but Shaw beats her to it. “Only a little.”

"Well, I guess we’ll be leaving then," John says, already starting to back up. "You seem to be in good hands, Shaw." With that, the two men walk out, closing the door behind them.

Once they are out of sight, Root turns back to Shaw. “What were we talking about?” She asks with a knowing smile.

"Honestly," Sameen replies, matching her grin. "I have no idea."


End file.
